I'll take credit for his secret sweetness, for his witty repartee and piercing blue eyes - but athletics? That's all his daddy. Seems that boy is good at anything he puts his mind and muscles to - cross country running being no exception. He's waited desperately along the sidelines, itching to be old enough to slip his feet into flashy sneakers and take off at the beat of a starting pistol. Second grade. It's his time now.
When his big brother did it, watching tugged against my heart in a painful 'can I just take this cup from you?' kind of way. He tried so hard and it was so so hard for him! He
was is awkward, uncoordinated and so pitifully like his non-athletic-prone mother that I feel I have to apologize for birthing such a fumbling off-spring (until I remind myself that he is an academic, an astute learner, an artist, a reader, an advocate for social justice - ah yes, I do have good things to instill).
Liam is streamlined and graceful and focused. He bounces about the field like this is no big deal and there's no reason to be nervous and no, he doesn't have to stretch because he's been playing since he got there and what better warm up is there than play?
He takes off and I feel emotional for a whole different reason. This isn't a 'that poor boy' moment, this is a 'holy crap - that kid came from me and he's tearing it up like a cheetah' moment.
|(If he gets any cuter I'll have to lock him up.)|
This child. I could spend a lifetime trying to understand him. All I know for certain is that I'm over-the-moon proud and I'll own that sin like a metal worn on my heart!